


Bullet Holes and Bloodied Silk

by Poemsingreenink



Series: Sing To The End [6]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Humor, M/M, billy rocks is a badass, bring out your dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 17:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13618008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poemsingreenink/pseuds/Poemsingreenink
Summary: Billy Rocks, reluctant hero of the west





	Bullet Holes and Bloodied Silk

Billy Rocks was a smart son of a bitch. He saw the world as it was, and never demanded that it tidy itself up for the sake of something as flexible as his sanity or piece of mind. 

 

The beauty of a watercolor sunset might take his breath away, stars might burn patchworks of story into a dark night, but nature’s wild beauty didn’t change people’s brutal natures. Just because there was a tiny town along the mountains of California that called him a ‘hero’ didn’t mean he believed brave acts would always be met with cheers. Just because he’d fallen in love with a white man who miraculously returned his feelings didn’t mean he trusted every white man he ran into, and just because he was slowly building a friendship with a white woman with more bravery than brains didn’t mean he planned on asking random women what they thought of the weather.

 

Rose Creek, Goodnight and Emma were exceptions to several hard learned rules. The world was large, cruel, stupid and would not miss him if he got himself shot. Understanding that had kept him alive for a very long time.

 

That was why, if he made it out of this, he was either going to never tell his companions about his unplanned good deed or blame everything on heat stroke. It wouldn’t do so start acting out of character.  

 

“Sir, there is no way-sir I am simply at a loss as to how to express-”

 

The women currently gripping his right hand lifted her face to the cheerful robin’s egg blue sky, and blinked several times.

 

Billy gave his hand a tentative tug, but she didn’t let go. He wished she’d grabbed hold of his left hand. It was covered is enough blood that he was sure it would have slipped right out of her grip like a wet bass.

 

His tearful, appreciative jailer was a large, buxom woman, dressed in rich and expensive looking fabrics. If Billy was the type of man who recommended things to women who weren’t Emma, he would have recommended that she invest in a rich, and expensive looking pistol the next time she road outside of town limits.

 

He tried to take a step back, and got his foot caught in the broken parasol the woman had slammed into her attacker’s stomach moments ago in a fight where she’d been surprisingly helpful. Now it was nothing but a ripped scrap of pink silk against the green fields.

 

“What my mother is trying to say is thank you.” A younger, blonder version of the woman gripping him stepped forward. Locks of her hair had been pulled out of a nest of pins, and there was a squashed hat under the wheel of the stage coach that Billy suspected belonged to her. A puffy black eye blossomed on her cheek, but unlike the driver she wasn’t weeping into her cupped hands, which was nice.

 

“Do you speak much English, sir?” The younger, blonder woman asked.

 

“I speak all of it,” Billy said.

 

He winced. He should have stayed silent. If they thought there was no way to communicate they probably would have stopped trying. A shake of his head, a tip of his hat and (once he got his hand back) he could have easily ridden away. (If he ever told Goodnight about this he’d tell him he’d ridden into the sunset. He’d like that.)

 

Then disaster struck, and the younger, blonder woman took hold of his free hand. She clutched it between the peppermint stripped fingers of her once white gloves. Billy'd been wrong. The blood on his left hand had dried into a thick, tacky coating, and was now sticking to the silk. They might need a doctor to pry them apart.  

 

“Truly, we thank you for your help," she continued. "If you hadn’t appeared when you did who knows what those men would have done.”

  

“It’s fine,” he said.

 

Another girl, this one even younger than the other two was marching from one side of the stage coach to the other. The sun skipped across her dark black curls as she lept nimbly over a pair of boots that were sticking out of the grass. She stopped to gently nudge...something with the tip of her well-made shoe.

 

“I’ve never seen a dead body before,” she called. “My brother Edmund will simply seethe with jealousy when I write home, and describe the day’s events.”

 

Her accent was....different. Exotic and strange to Billy’s ears. He didn’t think he’d ever heard one like it.

 

She turned to face the little group, and gazed at Billy with large, besotted green eyes. Something about the expression was terribly familiar even if the eye color was wrong. He needed to leave.

 

“I’ve only been in California a day, and I’ve already had a proper adventure!” the green-eyed girl said. “Before I left, Edmund insisted that if I ventured into the Americas I’d be killed by terrible ruffians. When those men stopped our coach I was so irate! No one wants one’s younger brother proven right! Then you came racing across the plains like the angel Michael made flesh.”

 

Billy tilted his head in thought, and decided he would definitely tell Goodnight that. He’d love that more than the sunset bit.

 

The older, blonde woman let go of Billy’s hand, and produced an embroidered handkerchief from the folds of her dress. Marching over to the small girl, she passed the piece of cloth to the driver and put a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t gawk, Penelope,” she said, steering her away from the boots. “Death is not an appropriate sight for young ladies of quality.”

 

The image of Emma Cullen, her lips twisted into a scowl that was prettier than it had any right to be, flickered across Billy’s thoughts like a fish darting across a still pond. That was new. Only Goodnight’s voice and expressions had ever provided a commentary on Billy’s actions when he was alone. He wondered if it would happen again.

 

A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, and stung his eyes.

  

Maybe he should just bite the bullet, and tell the two of them about this little side adventure as soon as he got back to camp. It wasn’t everyday he rode out to hunt rabbits, and ended up saving a stage coach full of well-dress women. It might help with moral.  Goodnight hadn’t slept at all the night before, and Emma was having one of her rare bad days where hours were spent trapped in bad memories and past grief. Billy was unclear of how aware she was of his knowledge of these days, but he suspected she wouldn’t appreciate him pointing them out.

 

Still, she may have been stubborn, prideful and private, but everyone liked a story where bad men got stabbed in the guts.

 

The younger, blonder woman reached into her purse. Her grip loosened  enough that Billy freed is hand without peeling off a layer of his skin in the process, and he quickly rested both of his hands onto his hips. They couldn’t grab hold of him if he wasn’t in reach.

 

“We must give you something to reward you for your gallantry,” she insisted.

 

Billy started to raise his hand in protest, thought better of it, and then put it back on his hips.

 

“No,” he said. “It’s fine.”

 

She hesitated, but before she could offer anything else Billy said, “I’m traveling with others. They’ll be waiting for me. I should go.”

 

Not willing to wait for a response Billy tipped his hat, and started marching backwards. His horse, Thistle, was a little ways off, happily munching on a patch of clover, and he didn’t turn his back to the group until he was safely saddled atop the animal. Taking a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, he gave the long prairie grass one last exanimation. From this distance and angle the bodies were well-hidden, and the little group with their bullet-hole-riddled coach looked practically picturesque. They’d be back on the road just as soon as the driver pulled himself together.

 

Satisfied, Billy turned his horse away, and road into the trees.

 

**Author's Note:**

> -I have mixed feelings about posting a non-Emma POV in Sing To The End, but I like how it worked out, and I liked that you get a little glimpse of her through Billy's eyes. I might do this again, but won't make a habit of it.
> 
> -Both Exit Pursued and Where the Light Dangles are currently being difficult, but I'm working on them. I'd give you a date, but that will 100% curse it.
> 
> -Thank you to everyone who is enjoying this little AU!


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